


In the Garden

by dont-tell-them-i-write-phan (QueenBoudicatheGreat)



Series: The Great Tumblr Migration [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, Kid Fic, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoudicatheGreat/pseuds/dont-tell-them-i-write-phan
Summary: Dan Howell loved three things. Painting, the abandoned garden around the corner from his house, and his very best friend Phil.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester
Series: The Great Tumblr Migration [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641895
Kudos: 3





	In the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 Phandom Reverse Bang. The artist has since deleted/moved, so unfortunately I can't link to the lovely art that went with this :(

Dan was running. He could feel the hot, sticky summer air like honey in his lungs. The slap of his sneakers with every frantic step he took. The burn and ache in his thighs and knees. He stumbled and fell to the ground, but picked himself back up, ignoring the scrapes on his palms and knees. Nothing could wipe the cheek-splitting smile off his face, and he was used to tripping, anyway. He ran like it was the only thing he knew how to do until he was a few blocks away from his house and right where he wanted to be. He almost ran right past the gap in the fence he was looking for, but managed to skid to a halt, windmilling his arms wildly to keep from falling over again. He stuck his head in first, and grinned when he saw it was empty before squeezing in himself.

As it had been all summer, the lot was overgrown. There were unmanaged bushes, clusters of flowers that had spread from their beds, and a cement bench that had long ago broken in half and was steadily crumbling to dust. In the very center was a vast oak tree whose gnarled roots dipped in and out of the ground like cartoon sea serpents; whose branches reached out to blot out the sun and leave the world beneath tinted green and cool.

Dan thought it was magical.

However, even magical things can lose their ability to awestruck, and ten-year-olds have very focused attention spans, and Dan was on a mission. He sat down beneath the tree, as he always did, and, as he always did, grabbed the art supplies he had hidden away in its roots. Dan loved to paint in his secret base. It was cool and secluded and his mum wasn’t there to wince at the mess no matter how much paint he splattered on the ground. And he splattered a lot. When he painted inside he always had to take care not to spill, but outside he was able to lose himself in the painting and ignore the mess. Today he was making a flower. Or maybe it wasn’t a flower. Maybe now it was a butterfly. Oh! Or maybe he could make it a fairy! If it was a fairy it would need flowers around it. Maybe some of those flowers were butterflies. This butterfly and the fairy were best friends.

He was so focused on his ever evolving painting that he didn’t even notice the sound of another boy squeezing into the garden and running up to him until the toes of their shoes touched. “Dan!”

Dan’s head whipped up from where he was adding the final details, and when he saw the other boy his face split into a wide grin. “Phil! Look what I did!”

Phil sat down in front of him, careful not to put any weight on the hand bandaged to the elbow. Dan meant to ask why it was bandaged, but he figured Phil just had a weak wrist or something like how Dan’s knees always hurt. Besides, there were far more important things to worry about. “That’s amazing,” Phil awed, leaning in to get a better look. “The wings are really pretty.”

Dan beamed at him and took out a new sheet of paper to start a new painting. “You can have it, if you want. Do you want to paint something?”

As he had done every day for weeks, Phil took the offered painting with an almost reverent air and folded it up to fit in his pocket. “Nah, I think I’m just going to watch you paint today,” he said, scooting closer to get a better look at what Dan was about to do.

Dan just smiled softly to himself, and with the warmth of summer around him and the warmth of his best friend beside him, he started to paint.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Dan groaned and shifted uncomfortably in the stiff white button-up shirt his mum had gotten him for school. She’d been kind and foresightful enough to buy him shorts instead of pants, but there was no getting out of the shirt and sweater he had to wear every day. He pouted at Phil who was sitting with him under the tree wearing the same thing he always wore. “How come you don’t have to wear a uniform?” Dan demanded.

Phil looked almost startled at the question and took a moment before answering. “The secondary school I go to doesn’t have uniforms,” he explained. “A lot of them do, but I go to one where there’s just a dress code.”

Dan sighed dreamily at the thought of not having to wear a uniform every day. “I hope I get to go to your school. But you have to promise that you’ll still be my friend if I do,” he warned.

Phil furrowed his brow. “Why on earth would I stop being your friend if we went to the same school? If anything, we’d be better friends.”

Dan shifted from side to side, refusing to meet Phil’s eyes. “Some of the other kids make fun of me.”

“Why do they make fun of you?”

Dan hunched into himself against the tree. This was clearly not a topic he cared to talk about. “They make fun of me cause I’m slow and I trip a lot and my hand shakes a bunch so I can’t write.”

Phil frowned and wrapped his arms around the younger boy to pull him into a tight hug. Dan sniffled and he felt Phil’s arms tighten around him. “I promise we’ll be friends for as long as you want,” Phil swore.

Dan pulled back with a slightly watery smile and held out one hand with the pinky extended. When Phil just looked a bit confused, Dan explained. “You gotta pinky promise you’ll be my friend forever.”

With a look almost akin to wonder, Phil stretched out his pinky and gently wrapped it around Dan’s. “I pinky promise I’ll be your friend forever.”

Dan laughed in delight and grabbed Phil in a tight hug. “You’re my best friend,” he announced, grinning when Phil’s pale complexion darkened slightly with a blush.

“You’re my best friend, too.” Phil admitted.

Dan beamed and reached for his paints to paint his third picture of the day, but Phil’s hand on his stopped him. He scowled at Phil who was giving him a warning look. “Phil, I don’t want to do my homework!” he whined.

“Too bad, you have to,” Phil said, grabbing Dan’s school bag. “Come on, it won’t be so bad with me helping you.”

Dan groaned and put away his paints. “Alright, fiiiinne.”

Phil chuckled under his breath. “Alright, which subject do you want to start with?”

“Anything but maths.”

And so, under the tree, in the light of the warm afternoon, Dan and Phil worked on homework, giggling and chatting the entire time.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Dan kicked a pile of colorful leaves as he walked away from the school. His mum generally got onto him about kicking leaf piles as there was usually someone on the other end who worked really hard to get them in a pile, but Dan figured that since she got to shove him in a jacket and boots that he had earned the right to kick whatever he wanted. As he watched the leaves fall around him, he thought again on the painting he wanted to make when he got to his garden. His mum had given him a very pretty set of browns and reds and oranges that morning, and he was planning to use them to paint a picture of himself and Phil in a pile of leaves.

Thinking of Phil reminded Dan of the two pumpkins in his bag. His teacher had let the class spend some time that day carving foam pumpkins with plastic tools and there had been a few left over. Dan had begged her to let him take them home, and after a few seconds of puppy eyes, she relented. He carefully placed them in his bag, and he and Phil were going to paint them together that afternoon. Phil never wanted to paint on paper with Dan, but maybe he’d be willing to carve a pumpkin.

As if under someone else’s control, Dan started running forward, excitement pumping through his veins. He stumbled to a stop in just a few steps, though, his knees aching. He plopped himself on the ground and scowled at his knees as he rubbed feeling back into them. They’d been hurting a lot more recently, and he didn’t know why. He’d heard his grandmother complaining about how the weather was messing with her joints, so maybe that was it.

When his legs were again in working order, Dan got back to his feet and started heading for the garden again, this time keeping sure to stay at a walking speed. As always, Phil wasn’t waiting when Dan got there, so he took the opportunity to paint without Phil telling him to do his homework. He was so excited to use his new paints that his hands were shaking even more than they normally did. He spilled paint pretty much everywhere, even getting some on his jacket. His mum wouldn’t be happy with him, but at this point he didn’t much care.

“What are you painting?” Phil asked, startling Dan so much his hand jerked on the paper. He frowned down at the brown smear now on his paper, but it kind of blended in with the rest of the leaves, so it was okay.

I made it for you!” Dan announced, flourishing it with pride. “It’s us!”

Phil looked positively gobsmacked. “You painted this?” he asked. When Dan nodded eagerly, Phil’s face split into the widest grin Dan had ever seen. “This is brilliant, Dan!”

Dan beamed. “My mum got me new paints.” He quickly grew bored of watching Phil ogle his painting, and said, “Do you want to carve pumpkins with me?”

Phil furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

Dan reached for his bag and pulled out the pumpkins his teacher had given him, along with the plastic carving tools. “They’re hollow, so we can put lights in them and you can see the face you made.”

Phil took the offered pumpkin. It was an unnaturally bright orange and a little larger than both of his fists put together and only vaguely resembled a pumpkin. However, it was hollow and Dan looked tickled pink at the thought of the activities, so he grabbed the plastic knife Dan was holding out to him. Dan hummed happily to himself as he got to carving, but looked over and noticed something odd about Phil. “How come your mom doesn’t make you wear a coat? I wish I was still allowed to wear shorts.”

Phil shrugged, his tongue poking out as he focused on his pumpkin. “I dunno. I just don’t get cold very easily so I don’t have to wear coats and stuff.”

Dan pouted. “No fair.”

Phil laughed and reached over to ruffle Dan’s curly hair. “Just carve your pumpkin and don’t worry about it.”

Dan shrugged and did as he was told. He worked slowly and carefully to combat the shaking in his hands like he always did with art projects. There was one scary moment where he slipped and almost cut his hand open, and Phil nearly panicked, but he was okay. When he was done, he sat his down next to Phil’s, who had already completed his several minutes before. Despite the extra care that went into it, Dan’s was still noticeably sloppier. But it had a wide crooked smile and Dan couldn’t be happier about it.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Dan stumbled down the street, bundled in the thickest coat he owned to protect him from the freezing December air. He was walking very slowly, his knee aches a near constant struggle instead of something that flared up occasionally. His mum had been sympathetic when he’d complained about it, but there was nothing she could do other than give him a child’s aspirin and hope things got better. They were supposed to go to the doctor that afternoon, but Dan had begged her to let him go the next day. He wanted to talk to Phil.

When he finally made it to the hole in the fence, he shoved himself through. He almost didn’t fit thanks to his coat, but he managed to squirm his way in. He went to the tree where his paints were, but when he got them out he found that they had all been frozen solid. He shoved them in his bag to take home so they wouldn’t get messed up any more, and sat down to wait for Phil.

Two hours later, he went home alone.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Spring had come and thawed the world out completely. Everything was soft and warm and green and the garden was prettier than Dan had ever seen it. There were bright bursts of colors everywhere from the flowers that dotted the beds, and birds chirped loud and clear in the branches of his tree. The ground was near-constantly wet from the daily showers, and Dan loved to kick and splash in the puddles. Spring had always been his favorite season, and one of his favorite holidays was Easter. As a special present for being so good at the doctor’s office, his mum had given him a set of plastic eggs for him to paint and decorate however he wanted. Naturally, he decided to take them to the garden to paint with Phil.

He tried to wait for Phil, he really did, but the other boy was taking so long and he got bored. So, he took out his paints and an egg and got started. As always, he spilled some on the ground, but it didn’t land on his pants, so it didn’t really matter. The egg slipped from his fingers and he went to grab it, but a pale hand took it before he could.

“What cha up to, Dan?” Phil asked, handing the egg back.

“Painting eggs,” Dan replied. He looked at the egg and frowned. The paint wasn’t at all dry, so dirt had gotten in it and the design had smudged irreparably. He set it aside, deciding he’d wait for it to dry so he could paint over it. “Will you paint some, too?”

Phil beamed and happily accepted the oval shaped plastic ball Dan handed him. “Do you want to take turns hiding them when we’re done?” he asked, carefully painting on some dots.

“Sounds good to me,” Dan agreed, divvying up the eggs. He’d started with eight, so he gave four to Phil and kept three for himself, not including the one he’d messed up. They worked in silence as they centered all their focus on painting, but Dan was having a hard time. His hands were trembling and all his brush strokes were crooked and he couldn’t keep a hold of the eggs. He kept setting the ruined ones to the side to redo, but soon he didn’t have any that weren’t wet. With a cry of frustration, he threw his brush to the ground next to yet another ruined egg and curled up in a ball, trying not to cry.

He didn’t succeed.

“Dan, what’s wrong?” Phil asked instantly, his hands hovering just above Dan like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“I don’t want to paint anymore,” Dan sniffled.

“Why not?”

“Because my stupid hands don’t work! Nothing on my stupid body works!”

Phil wrapped his arms around Dan in a motion that was by now familiar to both of them. “What are you talking about? Your body works fine.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Dan hiccupped, hiding his face in Phil’s chest. “I’ve got to go to the doctor all the time cuz my knees always hurt and my hands don’t work right and my face looks funny. The doctors gave me medicine, but it tastes bad and makes my stomach hurt and it doesn’t do anything.”

Phil frowned and hugged Dan that much tighter. “Have you told your mum?”

Dan nodded forlornly. “Yeah, but she just tells me that it’s supposed to do that and I just have to wait for it to work.”

Phil sighed and they sat there like that for a while, neither of them sure what to do next. It wasn’t until Phil absently reached down and covered Dan’s trembling hands in his own that he had a brilliant idea. “We can paint them together!”

Dan frowned. “No, we can’t. I can’t hold the dumb old eggs and they’d look ugly anyway.”

Phil waved away his concerns. “I can hold the egg and your hand,” he explained. “Then you can direct where we paint and I can hold your hand still!”

“Do you really think that will work?” Dan asked hesitantly. When Phil nodded eagerly, Dan shrugged and got in position for Phil to help. It was a little awkward with Phil having to sit behind him, but Phil had started his growth spurts so his arms were long and gangly enough for it to work. “I want to paint a rabbit on this one,” he said.

Together, he and Phil painted the remaining eggs one by one. When they were done, Phil hid the eggs while Dan counted.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Summer had once again fallen on Reading, freeing Dan from school. Around him, the air was hot and sticky, and he could feel the individual beads of sweat rolling down his back. Beside him, Phil was lying on his back with his eyes closed, the tall grass waving in the slight breeze. Dan dropped his paintbrush for about the fifth time that afternoon, and without even opening his eyes, Phil grabbed it and held it out for Dan to take.

But he never did.

Phil sat up to see Dan trembling from head to toe in absolute rage. His stupid body didn’t work and he was sick of it. With a snarl of frustration, Dan ripped the painting in his hands in half and then in half again and wadded the pieces up to throw away from him. He turned on Phil and snatched the paintbrush that had betrayed him for the last time and threw it across the yard. He started piling up the rest of his painting materials, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Dan, what are you doing?” Phil demanded, turning the younger boy to look at him.

“I hate painting!” Dan snapped. He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d been crying so much recently and he was tired. “I hate painting and I’m no good at it and I’m never doing it again!”

“What are you talking about?” Phil sputtered. “You’re great at painting!”

“Not anymore,” Dan said darkly. “Now my hands shake and my paintings are messed up and I can’t even hold the dumb brush right. I’m not doing it anymore.”

“I can help!” Phil insisted, eyes wide and almost panicked. “I can hold your hands still!”

“No! I don’t want your help! I just want to paint!” The tears that had been building behind Dan’s eyes finally spilled over. He balled his fists up and scrubbed them against his cheeks, but that did little against the hot streams that replaced the ones he wiped away. “Painting was the one thing I was good at, and now I can’t even do that,” he choked out. “I j-just wanna go home, Phil.”

“But Dan–”

Dan turned on Phil, all the anger a seven-year-old could muster bruning bright in his watery eyes. “I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.” With that, he hurled his entire paint set into one of the more over grown corners of the garden and ran off. He made it to the corner of the street before his knees started aching too much for him to keep going, so he sat himself down and waited. He leaned against a fence, scrubbed the tear tracks off his cheeks so his mother wouldn’t ask questions, and kept an eye on the hole that led to his garden. After what felt like years of waiting, Phil still hadn’t shown up, and Dan had to shove down another wave of tears as he stood up on shaky legs and made his way home.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Phil sighed deeply as he laid on his back and stared up at the sky. It was a bright, warm June day, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy any of it. Usually he could trick himself into believing he could feel the sun warming his skinor the grass tickling his cheek, but tomorrow was Dan’s birthday and he hadn’t seen the boy in weeks. He’d tried to follow after Dan whne he’d left that day – maybe to explain everything, maybe not – but as soon as he’d crossed the fence line he’d gone transparent again and got sucked right back to the base of this dumb old tree.

He blew a raspberry at said tree and drifted up and over to the art supplies Dan had abandoned. Just like me. He quickly shoved down that particular feeling. Dan hadn’t known what exactly his actions would do, and it was unfair to judge him in that light. For all Dan knew, Phil had abandoned him that day, too. Phil thought back on the past year he’d spent with Dan; it’d been the best he’d had in a very long time. He very carefully pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was the painting Dan had given him of the both of them surrounded by leaves. He’d never had someone paint him before, and it had been… nice. Of course he’d never been able to draw Dan before. He’d tried to paint the first few times Dan had inadvertently summoned him, but whenever he touched the paint to paper he could feel his hold on the world get weaker.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s finally time to go home.

Being alone for almost twenty years, Phil had more than gotten used to the voice in his head and often just tuned it out, but maybe this time it was on to something. He was tired of being stuck in this garden. He was tired of only half existing. He was tired of being alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this and everything would finally be okay.

Steeling his nerve, Phil took a deep breath and concentrated. He concentrated on the first time Dan had ever spilt paint on the roots of his tree. He concentrated on how he felt talking to Dan and having a friend for the first time in years. Then he thought back a little farther and concentrated on when he was still able to paint all by himself. He concentrated on how wonderful it was to paint. He thought of his very first best friend.

Slowly but surely, Phil began to feel… real. It started in his fingertips, and he screwed up his eyes and focused entirely on that feeling. By the time it had spread across the rest of his body, he was exhausted and panting, lying on his back in the grass.

But he could feel it.

Phil sat straight up and looked around. Everything seemed so green. He shoved his fingers in the ground and watched in awe as the dirt squished around them and buried itself under his nails. He had nails. He could have spent the rest of his life marveling at everything he laid eyes on, but the lingering thought of knowing he had a job to do and the weight of every breath kept him focused.

He grabbed up Dan’s paint supplies and settled himself down under the tree. He knew exactly what he wanted to paint, but he figured he owed Dan an explanation first. He’d hate it if the younger boy showed up to the garden and waited all day for Phil, only for no one to show up. It had been bad enough in winter, but at least it was only a couple times. Luckily, Dan also kept a pencil in his paint kit, so Phil wrote a note.

It was hard. After all, how exactly do you explain that you’re a ghost who was summoned by messy painting and longing for a friend? But he tried. He explained how he’d loved painting before and how he’d painted something for his best friend’s birthday. He explained how he’d never gotten to give his friend that painting because of a squabble over petty differences. He explained that he was going to his friend’s house to apologize when a truck came. He explained how he’d been left alone floating in his backyard where he used to paint for years until Dan showed up. He explained how Dan was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. He explained how hard it was to say goodbye.

He signed the note “ _Your best friend, Phil Lester_ ” and scrubbed the tears out of his eyes. There wasn’t any time for that. He was growing more and more tired by the second, and he hadn’t even started on the painting. He grabbed the brush and almost got lost in the feeling of once again having a brush in his hand, then started with one strong stroke. He kept painting, adding detail after detail, but he grew more tired every time he dipped the brush in paint, and soon his hands were shaking as much as Dan’s. He truly understood why Dan was frustrated to the point of tears now. He pressed on though, and kept painting. This had to be his best yet. It was just a picture of himself and Dan, and Dan was using a marker to draw cat whiskers on Phil’s face. None of the whisker lines were wobbly, and somehow Phil knew that Dan’s hands weren’t shaking in the picture. He put everything he had into wishing it were true.

With his last ounce of energy, Phil placed the note and painting under the tree where Dan always sat, and let himself drift but held on just enough to keep an eye on the garden. He didn’t know if Dan would ever see the painting left for him, but he wanted to wait and see. He wanted to see Dan one more time.

He lost track of time, floating there in the space between Here and There, but his attention was jerked back here when Dan burst through the fence. “Phil! Phil, are you here?” Dan called, beaming so bright he could have been the sun. Phil felt his heart ache as Dan searched for him, but there was nothing he could do. He watched as Dan finally found the note and painting left for him and started reading. As Dan’s eyes darted back and forth across the page, they filled with tears, and when he was done, he curled up in a ball and cried.

Soon though, his tears dried up, and Dan took a good look at the painting Phil had left him. He smiled a watery smile, and took out the sharp rock he kept in his paint kit. Phil watched curiously as Dan chipped away at the tree with surprisingly steady hands. It was messy, but it was perfect, and when Dan was done, he wrapped his arms around the tree and said, “You’re my best friend, too, Phil.”

Phil released a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. It was time for him to go.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

It was summer in Reading again, but not the summer Dan turned 13. No, it was many summers after that, but the air was still warm and sticky like honey in your lungs, and the garden was still quiet and cool, and Dan was still painting. However, these days he stood at an easel, and his hands never shook.

“That looks amazing, babe,” Matt grinned, sneaking up behind Dan to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Probably one of your best.”

Dan hummed happily, and leaned into Matt’s sturdy frame. “You think so?” They both looked at the painting Dan had made of a young boy with eyes that sparkled with laughter and nearly transparent wings furled out behind him.

“Definitely,” Matt said seriously. “You really cared about this one. Is it based on anyone you know?”

Dan shook his head. “You wouldn’t know him. He was my best friend when I was little, though.”

Matt smiled. “Well, let me retroactively thank him for taking such good care of you until I could.”

Dan rolled his eyes and playfully batted the other man’s face away. “This coming from the guy who nearly decapitates me because he can’t be bothered to close the cabinets when he uses them?”

“Yeah, that one.” They both laughed for a minute before Matt nudged his side. “Seriously though, I made lunch, and we both know you haven’t eaten all day. Come inside.”

“You go ahead, I want to finish this up. It’ll just take a second.” At Matt’s doubtful look, Dan put up his hands in surrender. “I mean it! If I’m not inside in five minutes you can come out here and carry me inside like the big, strong man you are.”

Matt laughed and pressed another kiss to Dan’s cheek. “Alright then. I’ll see you in just a bit.”

When Matt was gone, Dan smiled softly at his painting. “This one’s for you, Phil,” he said to the empty garden and splashed a bit of paint on the carving of a small child. Then he packed up his things and went inside.

On the base of the tree were the messy cuts that spelled out _DH + PH BFF_ splattered with blue paint. In the still summer air the windchime on Dan’s back porch jingled merrily. Everything was good.

**_Fin_ **


End file.
